


When We Were Young

by whitetiger91



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Ball, Comedy, Dancing, F/M, Gen, Good Dumbledore, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance, Unrequited Love, Young Dumbledore, Young Love, Young Muriel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-03
Updated: 2017-05-03
Packaged: 2019-02-18 00:07:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13088304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whitetiger91/pseuds/whitetiger91
Summary: Albus will not dance. He can't. It is a privilege he no longer deserves. So when a young witch wants to, will he deny her simply because she is after information about his family affairs?





	When We Were Young

Classical music from the orchestra drifted around the room, causing Albus to obediently to tap his foot and bob his head along to its soothing rhythms. His arms swayed by his side as his hips easily picked up the rhythm.

No. He mustn't dance. Dancing was high on the list of things that gave him pleasure in life, and he did not deserve to have fun. He was here because it had simply been too rude to refuse the invitation the Prewitts had generously given, to show that the Dumbledore family was still stable, that was all.

It had been a long time since Albus had attended one of these grand affairs—over five years in fact, and they had not changed one bit. Wizards, both Pureblood and Halfblood, strutted around the polished marble floors in new dress robes as though they were peacocks at the height of the mating season. Although they were probably hoping to be conspicuous, Albus could easily see that they were hoping to catch the eyes of the beautiful young witches who stood around the tables in clusters, giggling secretly behind silk fans that matched equally expensive dress robes. Those ladies who were the boldest in the groups broke off from their friends, standing underneath the sprigs of mistletoe hanging from the high crystal chandeliers. They unashamedly batted their thick eyelashes as the wizards walked by, flashing pearly smiles when a man's attention was caught and he swept them out to the dance floor.

It amused him to watch their antics and he had to stifle a laugh as one particular witch not a metre away smirked at female onlookers as she became surrounded by a large group of men. Her auburn hair was piled atop her head in an array of curls, and he watched as some stray strands bounced around as she tossed her head back in a throaty laugh. Her hand trailed up and down one particularly handsome boy's forearm as he whispered in her ear, causing her cheeks to tinge a vibrant shade of pink. Albus could only guess what it was and though not proper to do so, his smile widened.

No. He should not smile; the right to do so was taken away long ago. She was the one who should have been smiling. She should have been the one to be here with him, as she had begged to do so for many years. She should be the one to be waltzing around as men rained down well-deserved compliments upon her. But she wasn't and it was all because he had been too busy wasting his time, her time, on fickle business that had only caused tears.

Bringing a trembling hand to his once straight nose, Albus felt the large bump along the middle. He had not fixed it himself, though he was sure he was talented enough to do so. No, he left it as a reminder that he had let her down; a reminder that he would never let anyone down again.

Looking into the golden goblet he held in his other hand, he watched as the crimson liquid sloshed around, revealing the smooth ice cubes as they bobbed to the surface. The waiter, a young wizard he was sure had attended Hogwarts a few years below him, had given him the strangest of looks when he had requested the ice in his wine. He had smiled pleasantly, nodding his thanks whilst secretly vowing to not return, no matter how thirsty he became. Now, however, he wished he had some more.

As he stared into the contents wistfully, hoping to disappear into its depths somehow, an impatient voice interrupted his thoughts. Looking up, he watched a young witch clawing her way through the crowds, her sharp claws digging into shoulders in an effort to clear a path.

"Excuse me, excuse me. Excuse—oh will you just move? Thank you."

Albus recognised her as the auburn-haired witch from before. A look of determination now dominated her pale face, faint lines on her brow and pursed lips replacing the smile she had worn before. Her voice was not nearly as soft as Albus had expected—the barking of orders for people to move giving away its crisp undertones. Finally, with her dark green dress robes swishing about her heels, she reached him, sharp eyes narrowing as if deciding it was him that she wanted to see.

"Albus Dumbledore, I presume? A pleasure to meet you, I'm Muriel. Muriel Prewitt," the witch straightened her skirts and thrust a bejewelled hand out to him.

He frowned, recognising her as the daughter of one of his mother's close friends who was hosting the Christmas party. He had been wondering when she would make herself known to him, probably spurred on by her mother to gain information about recent occurrences in their household. Just about everyone at this party, when they weren't giving him pitying looks hidden by encouraging smiles, was dying to know what had happened to his sister.

Shaking further thoughts of her from his head before the darkness could consume him, Albus placed his goblet on a nearby table and pressed his lips to Muriel's outstretched hand. "The pleasure is all mine."

Part of him expected to see her blush deepen, with a girlish giggle to escape her lips, but none came. Instead, as his eyes trailed up to her face, he saw that she was scrutinising him. Her hazel eyes trailed up and down his glittering purple robes, almost enough to make him question his wardrobe choices. Almost.

"Care to dance? Mother has asked that I properly welcome all guests, and I suppose you look decent enough."

"I apologise, but as tempting as that sounds, I do not dance. Not anymore."

Muriel looked taken aback. Her hand, that had grasped onto his as though ready to take him out to the main dance floor, dropped. Blinking several times, her mouth opening and closing several times, she stared at him as though he were a lunatic for turning her down. Puffing out her chest and standing straighter, she finally spoke.

"Why not? Can't you dance? Really, it's not that hard. Here, I'll show you."

Without hesitating, Muriel's hands took hold of his arms in a firm grip, and she began to tug him towards the ballroom's centre. His feet automatically began to comply with her request, eagerly moving him along of their own free will as his stomach swirled with enthusiasm at the prospect. With each step closer to the orchestra his excitement to move grew, the temptation almost too much to bear.

No, he mustn't give in. He must not dance, not even out of duty.

Gingerly pulling on Muriel's hands, he pried each finger off his arms one by one, effectively stopping their progress. The witch swivelled around, letting off a huff of annoyance as she did so.

"What now? Come on, just one dance and it will get mother off my back and you can go back to whatever… you were doing."

"I'm sorry, but I won't."

"Just one—"

"No."

Muriel's smooth face began to crumble, the tips of her ears turning almost as red as her hair. Her eyes narrowed, the flecks of green standing out amongst the brown that began to darken. With nostrils flared, her rather large chest heaved up and down, and her heal clacked against the floor as she brought it down.

"Whatwhyhowdareyousaynowhatwhybut..." The words came out together, a tangle of nonsense as she tried to work past her rage. "Am I not pret—"

Witches and wizards who had been standing by began to take an interest in their conversation and whispers began to hum around them. Muriel immediately stopped whatever she had been about to say, closing her eyes and gritting her teeth. Taking a deep breath, she bowed her head.

Not a second later, the fists she had curled by her side stopped shaking and a calming smile replaced the grim line. Delicate features once smooth again, she looked up at Albus pleasantly, though her eyes, he noticed, were still sharp.

"Oh Albus, Albus darling. Such a gentleman! Come, we'll talk some more first then." Muriel winked at him before once more grasping onto his arm and pulling him away, back to the wall at which he had been standing.

She reminded him of a volcano. A large, bubbling mound filled with to lava that threatened to explode, yet just as people reached safety, let out nothing more than smoke and ash. It was terrifying really, and he was unsure what she was playing at.

When they had finally escaped the many eyes watching them, Muriel turned to him and released her grasp. Lifting a hand, she walked her fingers up his arm, tickling his elbow through the material as they went back down to his wrist.

"So, I guess you're traditional then. Well, what do you want to ask me? I mean, it's a bit archaic I think that men are required to know three things about a girl before she dances with them, or at least compliments them, but go ahead."

"Ah, well, you see, that wasn't really..."

Albus had never faltered in his words before, had never been one to become so flustered in front of a girl. He was usually able to hold a conversation, to quickly pick up what was going on around him.

On the other hand, he had never come across a witch quite like Muriel. At least she wasn't intent on discussing his family's personal affairs.

"Never mind, I can see that you clearly don't speak to girls that often, do you? We'll take it slow then." Muriel rolled her eyes impatiently, her hand still on his wrist. Turning his palm over, she traced a nail along the fine lines embedded into its pale surface. "There, I can see your heart line. Oh, and it leads to marriage. I was amazing at Divination, if you must know, came top of the class despite not coming from any line of—oh look, it seems you are in luck tonight, fate seems to have you want to dance with a pretty girl."

Albus smiled as Muriel gushed on, eyelids fluttering as she looked up at him. He thought about telling her that he, too, had been accomplished in Divination, and knew no such thing could be told from a wrinkle in his skin. He thought about telling her that no matter what she tried, he would still not dance with her, not even for a minute and that she ought not to be wasting her time. However, part of him was beginning to enjoy her company and it was much better than standing by himself as people around him speculated about his family.

"Well, that is one thing I know about you. Let's see, do you have any sisters?"

Muriel snorted before clapping a hand to her mouth to cover it. Recovering quickly, she replied, probably in the hopes of covering the embarrassing sound she had made, "Merlin no, and I'm glad. Fancy having to put up with another witch in the family to compete with? I do have a younger brother, though I'm afraid he will end up with father's fortune."

Albus' smile faded. Perhaps he had been mature in liking her company after all. What kind of person didn't want a sister? Sure, they were annoying at times. Sure, they were more often than not their mother's favourite. None of that mattered though, he would give anything for his to return; to take back years wasted playing explorer and spend more time with her.

Muriel must have taken his look for one of sympathy. "Oh, don't you worry about me, as long as tonight goes right and mother sees us dancing, I'll be fine. Anyhow there is only one more thing to go. How about we make it a compliment this time?"

Subtly, Muriel brushed her hand through her hair on the pretence of fixing the wayward strands back into place. More than once her hand touched the dazzling tiara perched precariously on her head, the diamonds twinkling innocently.

In a flat voice, one that sounded foreign to his own ears, he gave her what she wanted. "Lovely tiara."

"This old thing? Oh, it was just my mother's, practically made me wear it tonight." Her eyelashes continued fluttering, stopping only as she looked up at him. "What's wrong now?"

"I'm afraid you have not changed my mind. I will not dance with you tonight."

Muriel's lips began to quiver, eyes turning a lighter shade of green as tears welled within.

"Why? Why won't you? Is it because I'm not pretty? It is because I'm not an heiress?" her voice rose as she bordered on hysterics and Albus immediately felt guilty for causing her crippling self-esteem.

He couldn't lie to her however; she may as well know the truth. Clearing his throat, he interrupted before she could say anything more.

"I'm afraid we don't see eye to eye on some matters. You see, I have promised myself that I will not dance, not if my sister cannot. I was afraid that you would not have understood that earlier, but now I can see that you place little importance on family where I do."

"Don't be so stupid! Of course, I care about family! Why do you think I want to dance with you so badly? Because it will mean mother won't screech at me? Well, yes, that is true, but it is also because I do not want to embarrass her! People here talk, look around you. But you know that, otherwise you wouldn't be giving them so many reasons to do so. Have you forgotten about keeping your mother's reputation? Obviously, you have for you wouldn't be standing alone in flamboyant violet robes designed to draw attention, yet when people come to talk to you, you ward them off with a fake smile because you think they want to know about your family!"

Muriel stopped screeching and began to dig around in the small beaded silver bag she wore over her shoulder. Finding the handkerchief she was after, she delicately blew her nose into it, eyes now red-rimmed. Having released most of the snot, she looked up at him again, her voice quieter.

"And if you think that for one moment I don't understand why you are upset over your sister, because she may have been a squib or-or whatever, then you are wrong. A sister is a sister, blood is blood. Of course you should feel sad but you must remember that people make mistakes. We can't change the past though and it certainly doesn't mean we have to stay in darkness for the rest of it."

Blowing into the handkerchief one last time, she rubbed at her eyes and cheeks carefully ensuring the powder on her face had not become smudged. Patting down her skirts so they lay flat, she fixed him with a sad look. "Very well, you may not dance with me. I won't wait around; there are plenty of young men who will gladly dance with me. Just—just don't underestimate the allure of darkness, Albus. Even the purest hearts are drawn to it. Don't let it stop you."

Spinning on her heel, she did not wait for him to reply. A handsome young wizard in a powder-blue cloak stood nearby and, seeing that Muriel was now free, wasted no time in leading her off to dance.

Albus was still trying to process Muriel's outburst as she swanned off. Was she right? Had he been imagining the talk about his family? Was he still isolating himself and wasting his time… wasting his life? No, he wasn't. Dancing was a privilege, one he did not deserve.

Yet as he watched Muriel, her movements graceful as she spun around and curtsied in time with the music, he could not help tap his foot, wishing he could be out there with her.


End file.
